Commission: Zacura
by Sekah
Summary: Elder Toguro caught her off guard in the forest. One should never be surprised on Hanging Neck. Elder Toguro/OFC. This fic was commissioned by Musecloudhands for her original character Zacura. If you'd like to commission a fic of your own, go to Sekah(dot)com! You'll find commission information and pricing on that website.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: This was a commission given to me by Musecloudhands, of Elder Toguro and her original character Zacura.**

**If you want to see me write something for you, I'm happy to do it. Check my personal website, linked in my profile, for commission information and pricing.**

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A sun-drenched dawn over the sea—the water glittering well enough to pierce her eyes below a horizon the color of a ripe peach—could make even Hanging Neck Island seem blessed and serene, Zacura reflected. In the Makai there were areas that never saw sunlight. Here greedy humans basked daily in its warmth. They were like mayflies, these humans, maturing and dying in an instant, fireworks that fizzled or flashed but burnt out either way. Her mind turned to Yusuke and Kuwabara, and she grimaced. Perhaps it was only equitable that they were exposed to so much beauty.

She knelt on the carpet next to the bay windows, accustomed to the weight of her obi and the way her kimono fell on her shoulders. Her elbows were pressed flat against the glass. A mug of orange juice, fresh-squeezed, was cupped in one hand and braced by the other's wrist.

She heard Kurama's approach—he made no attempt at silence, though it still would have fooled all the team but Hiei—and didn't stir.

"It's quite pretty," she breathed, only half to him.

"The human world has more charms than we demons like to admit," he agreed. "And that style of cup is for hot drinks, not cold." Zacura glared at him over her shoulder. He was gracious enough to hide a smile. "Though of course, you may drink as you like."

Kurama crossed the room and leaned against the window, folding his arms. His eyes lingered on the fading dawn, giving her leave to study him. His face was that of a child, barely-ripened. It was strange to her, so used to his other form.

The look in those eyes told the truth of the body's lie, however.

She took a final sip of the juice and arose, leaving it on the ground. It was never the demon way to linger. Dangerous though it may be, she wanted to be outside on a day like today, enjoying the wind and the clamor of the gulls.

When the morning faded, the day turned thick and sweltering, sucking sweat from even demon pores. The sun shone hard through the foliage. Birds clamored for relief from the humidity and airless heat.

Zacura felt sticky and uncomfortably tired after an afternoon of intense training. She was on a far corner of the island, partially secluded. Scorches marked the trees and the browning leaves, which still smoldered from her ki. She collected the fire with an idle twist of her hand, brushed off her kimono, and spread her senses around her, using faint ki like a radar.

An ugly cackle reverberated through the trees. What few birds had stayed through her exercises startled in a whirl. She leapt hastily back to a branch, lashing out with preemptive fire towards the sound. Her control on the flames dissipated when sharp molten agony stabbed through her heel.

She tried to hover and dart away, but something was attached to the barb that had just hobbled her, and it dragged her screaming to the ground.

"My my, if it isn't Team Urameshi's whore."

"The Elder Toguro," she hissed.

He stalked from the trees, the light ugly relief on his face, his gummy appendages sinking back into his left wrist as he walked, the source of her pain. She cursed and tossed blades of fire.

An appendage stabbed through her raised hand. She blinked her eyes to free the tears and clear her vision.

He loomed, suddenly near. Fast, she thought.

"What do you want," she snapped.

"Oh," he said, pretending to suppose. "You, my little cornered rabbit, on my cock. Yes, I believe that will do."

Agony stabbed through her second wrist and heel, and drew her arms and legs out into the loam, spread-eagling her. Blood dripped down white flesh and she moaned in pain, mind scrambling for a way, some way, any way out of this.

He quirked the devil's own grin, and another long knife-like appendage detached from his arm. He hummed, bending over to look.

"Get off!" she shouted, to little effect, jerking her bonds and gasping, sweat beading down her forehead, as it exacerbated her wounds.

His flesh formed grotesque scissors, and with a few choice snips undid her obi and kimono. The cloth fell away with a whisper and she shrieked.

He chortled. "Nice tits," he said—in estimation, in judgment. And then he reformed his hands, leaving two long spikes from his wrists to subdue her, and reached forward.

She jerked, with a whimper like a beaten dog, as he grabbed her breasts and began to ply them, squeezing and twisting, seemingly fascinated with how the flesh felt.

He giggled. "It's been far too long since I had a woman, whore. Karasu does get boring on occasion, and he's been so distracted by your fox slut! Good to have a change of pace."

Her dry mouth finally produced enough saliva and she spat, hard, right in his face.

He smiled blankly, giggling again, and his tongue extended and licked the spittle up.

Clucking his tongue, he reached down between her pinned legs. His fingers toyed with her opening for only a second before plunging inside. She yelped, her legs jerking to close and wrenching her wounds.

"You're dry," Aniki said pulling out his fingers and giving them a small lick. "Now what's the use of a dry woman?"

"Fuck you," she spat.

He massaged her clit with his thumb, considering for a moment, and then smirked. The spikes receded, and she moaned, dripping blood and watching her wounds heal for only a moment before lunging.

He cocked an eyebrow and more appendages wrapped around her still-healing wrists and slammed them to the ground, yet more curling around her knees and pressing her open, vulnerabile.

Quicker than thought, a glyph was pulled from his pocket, and pressed over the scars on her stomach. Her back arched off the ground and she let out an agonized screech. He waited, a blank, sickly smile on his face and yellow eyes and teeth glinting.

Her energy knotted dormant within her. She was now warded.

"Relax," he giggled, demonic glee on his face. "I won't kill you."

"You have a habit of breaking your promises," she observed grimly, panting, eyes narrowed as she considered next moves.

He tutted, but said no more. Instead, he lay on his stomach and dandled his legs in the air.

Still secured, she flinched as his breath brushed her pussy. He cackled at the wince. "Come now, slut! You'll enjoy this, I promise."

Without another word, he pressed his lips to her clit, mock gentle. He licked at it, patient, eyes drinking in her nipples as they puckered and listening to her pulse rise.

"More docile now that I'm pleasing you, hm?"

His lips brushed her flesh with every word, and she shivered, humiliated by her arousal.

"Fuck you," she said again, clenching her eyes shut to block out her mind.

"I intend to." WIth that, Toguro gently mouthed her clit, tongue moving in slow, languid, torturous circles. Her clit swelled, blushing pink, her soft pubic hair stroking his chin. His eyes were wide, fascinated.

Teasing it from its hood, he sucked, hard. She gasped, her hips unwittingly arching. Pleasure made her nipples prick noticeably farther up and hard. He scraped Zacura's clit with his teeth, too rough but still good.

"Look at this," he said, panting, his eyes drinking her in. "Your cunt is drooling for me already."

He toyed for a moment with the outer lips, moist with more than spit, kissing and licking them, and then his tongue plunged harshly inside, arousing a breathless groan from her, her wounds now healed.

His lips and fingers still caressed her sensitive, aching clit.

When her hips began to shake, his tongue retreated, his cheeks and chin shiny wet. "My my, quite loose already. You really are a whore!"

"Fuck you," she gasped, hating how soft and sensitive she had become, hating him above all.

"I think it's quite a good time, too," he agreed conversationally, and his pants dissolved, confusing her, revealing a long, stiff cock, uncut.

Grabbing its base, still pressing her to the loam, he groaned at the feel of his own hand. "Come now. Open up!"

She whimpered in pure arousal as he sunk in his stiff cock, first nudging with the head and then quickly, too quickly, filling her with the shaft. His fingers pinched her clit, suddenly rough, and his hips began to drive into her.

She twisted and yowled. He wasted no time in speeding up, setting a demonic pace. His sack slapped her taint and his cock invaded her, again and again, in a slick wet slide.

The sound of flesh on flesh filled the clearing.

He muttered obscenities and groaned, brows knotted, cackling when her hips, still pinned, began futilely straining to rise and meet him.

He thumbed her clit, roughly. She answered by rolling her eyes behind clenched lids and contracting her inner walls, making him curse and fuck her harder.

His temples grew defined from his grit teeth as he raked his cock within her. That, along with his fingers still abusing her clit, made her begin to moan in pure pleasure. It built within her until, suddenly thoughtless, waves of pleasure rolled over her body as she came. Seeing her orgasm, her lips and body quivering, made Elder Toguro groan and, without thought, he bit her nipple until it dribbled blood down her side, still massaging her clit in rough circles.

Her tight walls milked him and suddenly his eyes rolled and he shouted, "Fuck. Fuck!"

And then his seed was spilling hot within her, dribbling down his balls and her thighs, where it made shiny pools on the grass.

His eyes rolled.

They stayed like that, breathing heavily, for some time.

He stumbled back, even letting her up, both bodies shivering in post-orgasmic bliss.

"I've decided not to kill you, girl," he gasped, his conversational tone broken by pants and roughened by pleasure. "I'd like to do this again."

She lay there dazed, fingers reaching to touch her bloody nipple, bruises forming where his tentacles had clenched and forced her into the ground, and stared at the silent wall of trees.

Seeing that, he smirked, and got up with a whistle.

"Goodbye, whore," he mocked, and then his pants reformed (they must have been made of his flesh, Zacura thought), and he swaggered out of the clearing, leaving behind the heady scent of musk and arousal, and the sound of Zacura's sobs, ridden with shame.


	2. Dear Inikus

Go on Deviantart. Type in "Commission."

All of those artists were paid some form of money for their fanart. On average, those fanarts took those artists 2 to 3 hours to complete.

For any fanfiction I write, commissions as well, it takes me at least 10 hours per chapter or one-shot.

When I hear the words "Being paid for Fanfiction," that's what I think of. I think of the fact that good fanfiction almost always takes longer to create than good fanart, but nobody gets angry at artists who open commissions. I think of the fact that when I submit my original work to anthologies, I can expect market rates like 65 cents per word, which is hardly what I'm charging for commissions.

My mother is losing her job and I, as a full-time student without a car, can't look for part-time work at this point. Commissions are just a small part of me trying to build up some cash to help my family (I'm also preparing a number of things to be sold on ebay and submitting stories to professional anthologies/magazines in the hopes of being accepted).

You're hardly alone in this paranoia about profiting from fanfiction, and you're right, I'm sure there are people who are angry with me. Whether they have any justifications for their anger, however, is another story.


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